


Stir-Fry Stirrings

by glitterfox19



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Cooking, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sexuality Crisis, Weird Fluff, at least i hope it's funny, but no actual drarry lol soz, hints of draco malfoy/harry potter - Freeform, scorpius is like...luna kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-14 21:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14777343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterfox19/pseuds/glitterfox19
Summary: Albus has his first-ever sleepover, Scorpius likes geography, and Draco doesn't want *the* Harry Potter to see him in his joggers.





	1. In Which Albus Realizes Something Important

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this is another weird piece. I love writing weird Scorpius Malfoy. Such a dork. Anyway, sorry for such a long break - it's ~exam szn~ but here's another fic on Scorbus! Also, this title is not perfect, but I couldn't think of anything better. Oops. :)

The first thing Albus notices about the kitchen at Scorpius’ house is that there are multiple blank maps tacked to nearly every surface. There’s two on the fridge, one on the oven, one on the back door, and three in separate areas of the countertop. The second thing he notices is that Scorpius is wearing an apron that says “Christian chick” emblazoned with a cartoon baby chicken. There’s a mechanical pencil tucked behind one ear. 

“Scorpius,” Albus says. “Are you even religious?”

“No. I saw this in a flea market and Dad laughed so hard he cried, so naturally, I had to buy it,” Scorpius chirps. The mere mental image of Draco Malfoy, in his pressed Italian suits and shiny black shoes, at a flea market with his gangly teenage son nearly makes Albus start to hyperventilate with laughter. 

“Give me… one moment please.” Albus kneads the balls of his hands against his forehead. His stay at the Malfoy House has lasted almost forty-seven minutes, and in that time span, he’s managed to be both physically and emotionally overwhelmed a grand total of twelve times. 

When he opens his eyes, Scorpius is reverently penciling in the map attached to the refrigerator door. Albus struggles with coming up with his own explanation for the other boy’s cryptic behavior. “Are you training for something? A… map competition?” Do those even exist? Was the Malfoy family always so weird? Was Albus going absolutely, bat-shit insane?

“No, but geography is pretty cool. Weird that they don’t teach it at Hogwarts,” Scorpius mumbles. His tongue is poking out ever so slightly from between his lips. Albus wishes he were anywhere but here, staring at Scorpius’ mouth.

“Let’s get to it, then!” Albus says. Scorpius leaps up, an entire quarter of the way through the countries already.

Six minutes later, somehow, Scorpius already had flour on his cheek. They were going to be making Korean Gochujang beef and rice bowls, for Merlin’s sake. Not baking. Judging by how his first hour had been thus far, however, Albus was starting to learn that having expectations was futile and would just lead him to be confused.

When he had arrived (fifty-three minutes ago, to be precise), a bewildered looking Scorpius had been shoved out of the front door to greet him. His thick black glasses had been askew. There had been a hissed voice from behind the door.

“Is Harry there?” A voice that sounded suspiciously like Draco Malfoy’s hissed.

“No, Dad,” Scorpius had said, turning slightly towards the doorway. Albus had fixed him with a blank stare, to which Scorpius had responded by shrugging his shoulders lightly. 

“Good.” Then, to Albus’ surprise, Draco Malfoy walked out the front door, wearing a white t-shirt and grey joggers. With running sneakers on. No wonder the elder Malfoy hadn’t wanted Harry Potter around.

“Hello, um, Draco Malfoy, uh, sir,” Albus had squeaked. His father had drilled him on perfect manners when they had Apparated there, but it appears that at the sight of Casual Draco Malfoy, Albus Potter lost his voice. And his etiquette. 

“Pleasure, younger Potter,” Draco had said, before ushering him inside. He had personally taken Albus’ overnight bag upstairs (who was this weirdly angular blond man and what had he done with Draco? Albus couldn’t wait to tell Mom and Dad), before telling the boys that it was Scorpius’ turn to make dinner and ushering them away.

And now, Albus found himself stranded in the middle of a slightly-too-small kitchen with ingredients spilled all over the counters, paper maps tacked to surfaces, and one Scorpius Malfoy.

Was that jam on his cheek?

“Scorpius, how are you so messy already?”

Wordlessly, Scorpius had pointed his wand at his face and murmured a Cleansing Spell. Albus knew that he knew that spells outside of school weren’t allowed, but honestly, he was pretty sure that telling Scorpius what to do in his own home was fruitless at this point.

“Alright, do you want to prepare the meat, and I’ll prepare the sauce?” Scorpius asks. 

“Yeah, sure, sounds good.” A paper airplane comes zooming in from the door that leads to the living room and smacks Albus on the cheek. He unfolds it and it reveals a recipe written on parchment in Scorpius’ careful cursive.

“Did you just copy this from online, and pretend that it’s a family recipe?” It’s a little ridiculous, Everything here is. Probably item number fifteen on the list of things that have surprised him during his stay with the Malfoys. It’s like an extreme sort of culture shock. Is being a Malfoy a kind of culture? 

“Albus Severus, I can’t believe you don’t know about my Korean heritage!” Scorpius exclaims. 

“I’m just shocked that you know how to use a computer,” Albus says. “I thought pure-bloods didn’t do that.”

“My dad loves fashion blogging far too much to disconnect from the internet for long periods,” Scorpius says, and his face is so serious that Albus decides that he has to be joking. The mental picture of Draco Malfoy, hunched over a computer while analyzing some wizard’s pant design is enough to make Albus nearly cackle aloud.

His dad had told him that he hadn’t wanted to come with him to the Malfoy house because of bad memories left over from the war. Albus had a hard time believing him because his father said that whenever one of his children or his wife asked him to do something he didn’t want to do.

_“Harry, put away the dishes.”_

_“I can’t. The last time I put away the dishes when I was seventeen years old, I ended up dying for the wizarding world. Don’t make me relive bad memories from the war.”_

_“Are you saying you haven’t put away the dishes since you were seventeen?”_

_“Do you know what it feels like to die?”_

_“Fine. James will do them.”_

_“But Mom!”_

Plus, the Malfoys didn’t live at Malfoy Manor anymore. Draco had demolished the house, gave away the artifacts, and sold the empty plot of land to whomever would buy it. He’d bought a charming, two-bedroom cottage right on the water near Devon. 

“It’s nicer, at the cottage.” Scorpius said to Albus once. “Feels a lot more like home than the other place ever did.”

“You’ve lived at the cottage for two days,” Albus had said jokingly. But he knew what the blond boy meant. From the little bits and pieces Albus had gleaned from his father’s real and serious recollections of the war, Malfoy Manor did not seem like a beloved family home full of happy childhood memories.

Albus glances over at the stove, which appears to be dangerously close to engulfing the saucepan with flames and sending horrific amounts of smoke into the air. Dying from smoke inhalation does not sound like a happy childhood memory, speaking of those, so he dashes over to the stove and turns down the heat.

Scorpius is sitting on the countertop, the recipe in his lap. There’s no way Albus can reach for it without committing some horrendously suggestive movement. “Scorpius? What’s the next step for the meat?”

“The recipe’s right here, Albus,” and Albus swears for just one moment that Scorpius knows the full implications of what he’s saying. Then Scorpius goes back to looking at a paper map beside him and mumbling names of countries under his breath. 

Albus tries to take the paper from between Scorpius’ legs as eloquently as he could, but he ends up fumbling around for quite a bit longer than he intended. Or maybe he intended to do so. He really wasn’t sure of anything at this point.

Neither of them say anything, but Scorpius’ pale cheeks are dusted with pink, and Albus’ heart is beating as though he just ran a marathon at a sprint and uphill.

“Anway,” Albus says, even though neither of them had said anything. Scorpius starts scribbling names once more. 

Albus returns to his mission of browning the meat. He turns down the heat, adds the sauce, glancing over at the recipe every few seconds just to double check that he’s not royally screwing everything up. At least Scorpius hasn’t called him out on it.

“Sixteen years old and Albus Severus Potter thinks he can’t brown meat without burning the house down,” Scorpius muses, and Albus feels his face turn hot. Scorpius is a lot more observant than he appears to be.

“Shut up,” Albus snarks. “I just don’t want to screw something up. Especially because your dad will be eating it.”

“Oh, don’t worry!” Scorpius chirps. “My dad checks every meal he eats for poison. Even the ones I make! There’s no way you can mess up that badly. And if you did, well. At least the spell would detect that it was an unintentional poisoning!”

Nothing about that sentence is comforting to Albus. Or surprising. He knows more bizzare facts about the Malfoy family than he ever wanted to know. Actually, that’s not true. Of course Albus wants to know everything about the family of his future husband-

He lets the spatula fall from his hand with a loud clamor. His future what now? When had his thoughts taken that turn? Scorpius was his best friend. Maybe he was cute - Albus would have to be blind to not notice that - but husband? He hadn’t even considered Scorpius as potential boyfriend material, nevermind husband material.

But then again… there was always moments. Every so often, like when Scorpius would brush his hair from his eyes, or when he stuck out his tongue as he concentrated… Albus felt like something was trying to pluck a melody on his heart strings. He’d played it off, thought it was heartburn or something silly.

“Everything okay, Albus?” Scorpius asks. He’s lying down on the countertop, propping himself up on his elbows. His cheeks are all squished by the tiny fists he’s making. Albus’ heart feels like it just came off worse in a fight. 

“Yes, just, um,” Albus wishes he were anywhere but here, he wishes he could stay here forever, “Heartburn, I guess.”

His brain felt clouded by that thought for the rest of the evening. Numerous times, he started to screw up the meal because his mind was drifting towards his potentially-unrecognized feelings for his best friend. Scorpius had to help him out. The worst had been when Scorpius had manhandled the spoon Albus was holding and used it to stir the meat. It had basically been holding hands, and Albus thought his heart was going to break open his ribcage and make a go for it.

Just before seven-thirty, everything had been plated, the table had been set, and Scorpius yells, “Dad! Dinner’s ready!” 

The dining room at Malfoy Cottage is the opposite of what Albus was expecting. It is a tiny, square table meant to fit only two people comfortably. Three people could fit uncomfortably, but it meant that Scorpius was almost sitting in Albus’ lap. 

It takes all of Albus’ willpower to pretend that he hadn’t just come to a startling realization about himself. He scoops massive amounts of stir-fried green beans and carrots onto his plate in an effort to eat his confusion. 

“How’s your Easter holiday been, Albus?” Draco asks. Albus, naturally, chokes on his food. Scorpius gives him a hearty and cheerful thump on the back, which only complicated matters. 

“Uh, it’s been good,” Albus says. “I’m excited for exam season to be over, though.”

“Yeah, I remember how stressful exams were. What are you taking?” Draco asks. It seems as though conversation comes effortlessly for the elder Malfoy. Scorpius is in his own world, humming over his carrots. 

Albus remembers reading somewhere that Draco Malfoy was taught Legilimency by Lord Voldemort himself. His hands feel clammy all of a sudden. _I really hope that you can’t tell that I want to… defile your son? Wait, do I even want to do that? Merlin, this is so confusing._

He jerks back to attention to answer the question. “DADA, naturally, my dad wouldn’t have it any other way… Uh, Potions, Herbology…Care of Magical Creatures… they’re offering Alchemy this year, actually,” Albus says. “Some other stuff. I just know I want to be a Potioneer.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Draco says, expertly stacking rice, meat, and vegetables onto his fork. “Would you ever want to teach?”

“Maybe? I’m not really sure.” It’s easier than Albus thinks, talking with the Draco Malfoy, the one his dad always talked about at home.

_Draco’s changed a lot, sure,_ Dad would say, _but he’s still an intimidating guy._

__

__

_Intimidatingly handsome, in your book,_ Mum would tease. Dad always pretended not to hear her.

Midway through his rant on how frustrating modernized potion recipes are, he feels Scorpius grab his hand. “You’re all clammy,” he comments at full volume. Albus thinks he’s having a heart attack.

“Uh, thank you?” Albus says, and then cringes. Draco is scooping up the last of his rice in the most elegant manner possible. How can he scrape his plate in an elegant manner? While wearing joggers? The Malfoys are… weird. Scorpius doesn’t let go. 

They spend the rest of dinner quietly chatting. Well, Draco and Scorpius do. Albus nods along and shakes his head when required, but he mostly focuses on the weight of Scorpius’ hand in his, and how weird this whole situation is.

Weirdly right.

It had been manageable with the Christian-themed apron, and the maps, but this? This was far more surprising than Albus had expected. Even more surprising than Draco Malfoy in joggers. He felt like his whole body was one gigantic guitar string that had just been plucked. His blood was positively pounding in his ears.

After clearing the table, Albus asks to see the bathroom. Scorpius cheerily fishes out Albus’ toiletries without an ounce of self-consciousness, flings the bag into Albus’ arms, and closes the door gingerly. 

There’s polka dots on the mirror, and a stepstool from when Scorpius was little. It has his name painted on it in yellow, with a Kneazle and a duck sitting side-by-side in the corner. And a tiny, yellow handprint. 

He pulls out his cellphone. It wasn’t his fancy one - Mum had begged him to leave that at home in an effort to “detox from technology,” or whatever Mum had said when he was halfway out the door. This one was ancient, the sort of flip-phones that slides open. This one was only for emergencies, like when he’s lost, or cornered by a bunch of reporters in the middle of an alleyway, or when he’s pretty sure he only just found that he’s gay and in love with his best friend.

Albus hits 1 on speed dial. “James,” he says, “I’m having a crisis.”

“What kind of crisis?” James says, his voice entirely serious. “Is Draco giving you a hard time? Is Scorpius doing something?”

“No, no, no, I-” Albus says, and then takes a deep breath. “I think I’m gay.”


	2. In Which James Is Actually Helpful For Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t bite,” Scorpius calls. “Unless you attack me first, and then it’s self defense.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy!!! :)

“You… you called me on the emergency phone to say that you’re gay?” James says. His voice is full of mirth. Albus can practically feel him rolling his eyes through the phone. 

“Well, yes, that certainly feels like an emergency. To me,” Albus says, sniffing haughtily at the tone his brother has adopted. 

“I don’t think this is the most supportive thing I could say, but since I’m your brother I feel like I’m allowed to say it,” James says, and now he’s really laughing. Albus sits down on Scorpius’ yellow stool. “Mate, everyone knew.”

“Wait, Mum and Dad know?” Albus says, his heart fluttering. 

“Oh, Merlin, no, nonono,” James says. “Fuck. I knew this would happen. You know Dad is as dense as a bag of bricks. And Mum, even if she did know, wouldn’t say a word until you did. But like… alright. I’m surprised you’re emergency calling me because, well, you’re not exactly subtle about your feelings.”

“My feelings about what?” Albus thinks he’s in a very precarious, and very frustrating, guessing game. 

“Scorpius, obviously,” James says, and on instinct, Albus covers the speaker of the phone. 

“I’m not subtle?”

“Oh, Merlin,” James says, and his voice goes soft. “You didn’t… you didn’t know. For real.”

“I figured it out, like, an hour ago, James.” Albus tries to sound huffy, but his voice falls flat. 

“Shit.” Eloquent as ever. “I’m sorry, Al. I thought you were being ridiculous for no reason.”

“That’s your job.” Somehow, despite the fact that it felt like the world was crashing down around Albus, he still managed to be normal and joke with his older brother. Albus balls his hands up into fists and sits on them in an effort to calm down. 

“Hey! I’m trying to be a good older brother for once in my life,” James says. “So, what can I do?”

“Take me home?” Albus tries to keep the pleading out of his voice. It’s not like he doesn’t want to be around Scorpius. He does. He absolutely does. He wants to be around Scorpius 24/7. But at the same time, it makes him have the heartburn sensation all over again, and not in a good way.

“Does he know?” 

“Does who know what?” Albus feels like the universe has turned him into the butt of one gigantic, cosmic joke. James laughs through the phone. 

“Albus, you’re horrendous.” The stool wobbles a little bit underneath Albus. He straightens his legs out, and sighs. Apparently he’s more oblivious than he initially thought himself to be. Being at the Malfoy cottage just brought out new surprises about everyone, evidently.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Merlin on a broomstick,” James says, chuckling. Albus wants to kick something. Steam would be coming out of his ears if he were a cartoon character, but he’s not, so he resolves to kick the wall. Softly, of course. The wallpaper probably costs a fortune. Even though it’s blue and yellow with ducks emblazoned on it. It’s definitely expensive kiddy wallpaper. “Does he know that you’re gay? Did you do some sappy confession? Oh, I bet you did.”

“No, I haven’t.” Albus is gritting his teeth. He’s regretting calling James in the first place. 

Another snort reverberates through the phone. “Then no, I’m not taking you home unless Draco poisoned you with dinner.”

Albus grins. “No, I made dinner.”

“They’re working their guests? Monsters!” Albus giggles, though it sounds shaky through the phone.

He tries to join in on the joke and adds, “Draco’s in joggers,” but the sentence comes out all stuttery. Nevertheless, James lets out a good-natured shriek. 

“He’s in WHAT?” Albus winces and moves the phone farther away from his ear. Then he clears his throat. 

“Anyway,” Albus says. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Of course you can. You don’t need to tell him anything, you know.” There’s a pause, and Albus looks down at his clenched fists. He unfurls his fingers, watching how the skin of his palms turns from white to red. “And if you do, he’s your best friend. He’ll love you no matter what.”

Albus inhales another shuddering breath. “How do I know if I’m gay or something else?”

“That’s for you to decide.” It’s not the answer Albus wanted, but it’s an answer nonetheless. Even though James has been entirely unhelpful this whole time, it’s nice getting advice from him and talking about being gay like it’s mundane. Well, it is, or at least, it should be. But to Albus, it makes his palms sweat and his heart beat funny and his breaths start to rattle. The fact that James can be so normal soothes Albus a little bit.

“James, when did you get so wise?” There’s only the barest hint of a joke in that sentence.

Albus can practically hear James preening through the phone. “Stop feeding my ego, twerp.” He hangs up. 

Just on cue, Scorpius knocks delicately. “All set?”

“Yeah, just let me brush my teeth,” Albus says, and shoves his phone into his pocket. He pulls out his toothbrush, wets it, and starts scrubbing at his teeth. James told him once that when seducing a girl (or a boy, Albus thinks to himself), it’s essential to have minty fresh breath, or else there was no way anyone would kiss him.

“Gotcha. Wanna watch a movie?” Scorpius asks, his voice muffled by the door.

“Wizarding kind or Muggle?” Albus responds, spitting into the sink.

“Either. Both. Up to you.” Albus pushes open the door. Scorpius is sitting down right next to the bathroom, holding a pocket-sized book with text so small it’s nearly impossible to read. “Whatever you want to watch, really.”

Albus opens his mouth to suggest a Muggle action movie, before closing it and reevaluating. “Wait, do you guys have, like, Netflix?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Scorpius asks, tilting his head as he looks up at the other boy. For a moment, Albus thinks he’s joking, and then he realizes that no, Scorpius is one-hundred percent serious.

“I didn’t think a Sacred Twenty-Eight family would be so open to Muggle culture,” Albus says. Scorpius laughs. It’s very airy and clipped and Albus knows, Albus is certain that he has feelings because he’s in love with even his laugh.

Scorpius pushes on a door covered with various multicolored stickers, and they’re in his room. It’s exactly as Albus pictured it from Scorpius’ letters: there’s succulents hanging from glass balls from the ceiling, a green lava lamp, some obscure posters for Muggle bands from the 1970’s, a blanket with a rainbow on it, and just a lot of random stuff in general. 

The bed is king sized and in the center of the room. There’s a television directly opposite. Scorpius flops onto his bed in a somewhat dramatic manner and aims the remote at the television. Albus just stands in the doorway, looking at every last detail of Scorpius’ room. There must be thousands of books on his bookshelves; they’ve all been shrunk to the size of a postcard for easy storage, probably. 

“I don’t bite,” Scorpius calls. “Unless you attack me first, and then it’s self defense.” He pats the bed and fumbles with turning the television on.

Albus slowly climbs in, making sure to keep his distance from Scorpius. How many inches is respectable? Five? Seven? Is there a way to measure that subtly? He wished he’d never realized his feelings in the first place. It was so much easier to be around Scorpius when he wasn’t constantly thinking about how nice Scorpius’ cheekbones looked, or the way his neck connected with his jawline…

Okay, maybe Albus had been thinking about this for longer than he’d like to admit. Maybe he’d known it all along, since the first day on the train, when they had been only eleven. But now he knows what it means to admire someone for their looks, and feel something weirdly painful and weirdly wonderful in his chest.

Albus spells out the name of the movie for Scorpius, and they settle in. Half an hour into the movie, Albus remembers that it’s more of a horror movie than an action movie, and it relies heavily on jumpscares and Muggle culture.

“Sorry,” he mumbles to Scorpius, who is watching the screen through his fingers. “We can turn it off, if you want.”

“No, I’ve seen it before. It just gets me every time,” Scorpius clarifies, cringing away from the screen when a monster leers down at the hero. “Mind if I lean on you?”

“Not at all.” Albus thought he meant put his head on his shoulder, or maybe press against his side a little. But Scorpius actually gets up and gets between Albus’ legs, forcing him to sit spread-eagle, and leans his back against his chest. Albus’ arms dangle awkwardly against Scorpius’ side, not really touching but too close to him to not be at the same time.

“Thanks.” And, somehow, Scorpius stays… the same. He’s as quirky as ever, but he seems entirely unruffled by the situation. Meanwhile, Albus is fairly certain that his body’s stopped functioning entirely. His skin feels entirely too hot all of a sudden, especially his front, and it prickles. But he can’t shift without dislodging Scorpius, so he resolves to sit there and let his limbs fall asleep.

When the movie stops, Albus realizes that Scorpius is asleep. His head is slumped over on his shoulder, his arms slack at his sides. Albus encircles the blond boy with his arms loosely, nestling his head in the crook between Scorpius’ jaw and his shoulder. It smells like Scorpius, something indescribably sweet, and the dinner they had just made.

Albus reluctantly removes his head from Scorpius’ shoulder and turns the TV off, moving as slowly and as quietly as possible as to not wake the blond boy in his lap. He then peels off his socks and gently tugs Scorpius down until the other boy is lying on the bed. Excruciatingly slowly, he wiggles out of Scorpius’ way, gets out of bed, and then crawls in on the other side.

And then, before he can think twice, he curls up against Scorpius and throws an arm haphazardly over his side. When the other boy wakes up, he’ll probably just think that they started cuddling in their sleep, which is a perfectly normal and platonic thing to do. 

(Of course, when Scorpius woke up before him - as he always does, he likes to wake up when the sun rises because it’s so beautiful - he distinctly remembered having fallen asleep in an entirely different position. He needs an excellent memory, after all - how else would he be the wizarding whiz kid at geography? 

So when Scorpius woke up to draw his blinds as a part of his morning routine, he had been confused for only half of a second. His mind had done some careful calculations, and he had decided that Albus must’ve had a reason for spooning him last night, and whatever that reason was, it was probably a good one. So he drew the blinds and watched the black turn to misty grey to orange to blue. He grabbed one of his pocket-sized books from the shelf, a Muggle romance novel with two boys cuddling on the cover whose position had suspiciously mimicked his and Albus’ upon waking, and began reading.)

When Albus opens his eyes, there’s sunlight shining directly in them, and Scorpius is sitting up straight. “Gromorning?” he mumbles, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“I read the dictionary fairly recently, and last I checked, ‘gromorning’ is not a word,” Scorpius informs him lazily, flipping a page. “You missed the sunrise.”

“Surise?” Albus asks. His mind is about ten paces behind his body, because the next thing he knows, he’s trying to bury his face in Scorpius’ side. Scorpius doesn’t mention anything of it, though, so it must be fine with him.

“Sunrise, Albus. You’ve really got to learn to enunciate,” Scorpius says. “It was one of the best I’d ever seen. Have you ever seen the green flash?”

“Do you mean the Green Lantern?” Albus grumbles. “That’s a Muggle movie.” His calf no longer has pins and needles, which is an upside. A downside is that eventually, he’s going to have to come up with an explanation for his overly-touchy behavior, and he’d really rather just keep doing things without being questioned on it. 

“No,” Scorpius explains, “the green flash. It happens at sunsets. It’s a little flash of green, on the horizon, right when the sun sets. Muggle science says it’s because of the way green light refracts off of particles in the air. I don’t know what wizards think it is.”

Albus has the chilling thought that it’s someone doing an AK that can be seen thousands of miles away. He swallows and rolls over onto his side, away from Scorpius. “Dunno.”

“It always reminds me of your eyes.” And just like that, Albus is undone all over again. His whole body feels hot. Even his toes feel hot. He wants to rip off all of the blankets and take Scorpius off of the bed with it so he never has to look at those infuriating eyes ever again. 

“Do you know why I like grey skies so much?” Albus hears himself ask. Scorpius lowers the novel, and Albus catches a glimpse of the cover. It looks like two boys cuddling, one brunet, one blonde, both so immersed in each other… 

“Why?” Scorpius asks, looking at Albus. The steely grey eyes used to be so intimidating to look at directly. Albus finds it hard, still, to look at Scorpius straight on. It feels like he’s looking into the sun. It feels like toomuchtoomuchtoomuch-

“Because they remind me of your eyes,” Albus blurts. 

Scorpius, of course, doesn’t say anything. He just picks up his book again. They both stay silent for a long stretch of time, Scorpius reading, Albus running through everything he’s ever said in his entire life to Scorpius and wondering where and when and if he’s revealed too much about this crush that has probably been around for forever.

“Grey skies are my favorite for studying,” Scorpius comments absently. “These characters in this book remind me of us.”

“Oh?” Albus says. Stupidly, he forgets that, if he wants more information from Scorpius, he has to ask direct questions. But his heart is pounding too fast and too loudly in his ears for him to work up the nerve to ask a simple question. 

“Do you want to come over to mine next Sunday?” Albus asks. His mouth is running faster than his brain. His body is all out of sync today. 

Scorpius nods. And then jumps a little with excitement, most probably at the recent plot developments in his book. “Shh,” Scorpius says. “Something interesting is happening.”

Albus tries not to feel wounded about Scorpius’ sudden disinterest, takes a deep breath, and looks at Scorpius’ ceiling, which is covered in tiny, plastic, glowing stars. “Which is?”

“They’re making a lasagna together. And now they’re kissing.” Albus feels his face flush red. He wonders if Scorpius knows precisely what he’s doing. Scorpius is too smart to be playing such a vicious game with Albus’ heart unwittingly, but at the same time, he’s definitely far more book-smart than social-smart.

“Oh?” Albus can’t look at Scorpius. 

“I want to make a lasagna next weekend,” Scorpius says, and then slams the covers shut. “Let’s go get breakfast together.”

Albus swallows. And maybe that’s as much of a confession he’ll ever get out of Scorpius Malfoy, but it’s a confession nonetheless, and he’ll take every meager scrap he can get out of him. Now he just has to work up the nerve between now and next weekend…

And how does one kiss boys, anyway? He needs to call James again.


End file.
